Searching for Sherlock
by Squeak the Mouse
Summary: When Sherlock is kidnapped from Baker Street things are looking grim. With limited help and no mind palace John needs to find a way to Sherlock; but will Sherlock still manage to keep calm and be brave like John? Stars brave John, smart Sherlock, the always helpful Lestrade,the big brother Mycroft and a villain I've made up. No slash, just friendship and brotherly love.
1. Chapter 1: The Beginning of Things

Chapter 1: The Beginning of Things

"I know he's doing something," Sherlock muttered to himself as he paced up and down the untidy living room.

John looked up from his book and sighed. For the last few days Sherlock Holmes had been rushing around London from morning 'til night in various disguises eating little and sleeping even less. It was driving John mad with worry.

"Who's doing what?" John asked. Sherlock questioning stare told John that Sherlock had forgotten that he'd been working overtime at St. Bart's hospital so he didn't have a clue what was going on.

"It's about Lucius Turner, the well known business man. My sources tell me that he's planning something that will make him considerably richer than he already is. He's putting it down to a business deal but something isn't right. I've been following him as he goes about his everyday business around London as well as loitering outside his river front mansion but to no avail. I can't get any more information," Sherlock explained as he continued pacing.

"How do you know something is wrong?" John asked patiently. To him it all looked like this Turner bloke had just has another successful year.

"The case was recorded on the Scotland Yard data base so obviously something's wrong; they never take up a case unless there's illegal activity."

John slowly buried his head in his hands. He didn't know whether to be exasperated or amused by his detective friend. Sherlock was always hacking into the Scotland Yard data base when he was bored to look at all the unsolved crimes but this was some sort of financial investigation more than anything else. Sherlock was more into investigating the gritty, murdering, kind of crime. "Why are you doing this case if Scotland Yard have already taken it up?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled by his hands.

"Anderson and Donovan are in charge; it won't be solved until the world has ended with those two idiots working on it. This is a very delicate operation that requires brains to solve it which is something those two idiots haven't got," he replied shortly. John could always count on Sherlock to be modest.

The clock above the mantelpiece showed that it was nearly eleven o'clock when John glanced at it. It was getting late and he'd had a long day at the hospital tending to his patients. A good night's sleep is what he needed is he was going to help Sherlock on this case.

"On that note I'm off to bed. Try not to worry too much Sherlock and get some rest while you're at it," John said

"Try not to worry? Honestly John!" Sherlock grumbled.

John climbed the stairs to his room to get ready for bed. He was so tired he fell fast asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. However, John wasn't destined for a good night's sleep.

A loud thud woke John up making him sit bolt upright in bed. He'd been having one of those dreams when he was back in Afghanistan so he wasn't too sure if had been real or not. He strained his ears in the silence to see if it would repeat itself. It did. A loud bang exactly like a door being kicked in followed by more thuds seemed to be coming from downstairs. John then heard raised voices, one of which he recognised as his best friend.

"Get off me!"

"It's no use struggling! Pack it in you little git!"

John's soldier instincts kicked in as he grabbed the loaded pistol from his bedside table, sprinted down the stairs and burst into the living room. What he saw made him gasp with horror.

Sherlock was kneeling on the floor with two burly men binding his hands behind his back with tape. A further three enormous men were pointing guns directly as Sherlock's raven black curls.

"John-!" Sherlock gasped but he was quickly hit on the head with the hilt of a gun then had a piece of tape stuck across his mouth. The largest man pointed his gun directly at John.

"Drop your gun Dr Watson otherwise you and Mr Holmes die right here," he said in a bored voice. After that blunt warning John threw his gun onto the sofa as if it was a poisonous python and put his hands on his head. He couldn't risk doing anything stupid now.

The five men had finished securing Sherlock so hauled him to his feet. Despite being incredibly tall he looked almost childlike compared to the intruders who looked like they could eat whole cows for breakfast. They were having a whispered discussion which John half hoped was a plan for taking him too; he would be able to protect Sherlock if he was with him. However, the parts of the conversation John heard didn't sound like that. "He knows... can't take him... people would realise." At last the largest man turned to John again.

"We're taking your friend with us now. If he's a good boy and behaves himself he won't be hurt; if he doesn't then you'll be lucky to see him alive again." John saw Sherlock's eyes widen with fear which made John feel sick. Sherlock was never scared of anything. "If you call the police we'll kill Mr Holmes here despite his behaviour. Don't worry though, if he follows all the boss' instructions then he should be returned to you."

Who's this 'boss'? What instructions? Why? All these questions whirled around in John's brain as he looked at Sherlock who now had a cut caused by the blow from the gun hilt. He watched the blood trickle like a scarlet waterfall with a terrible pain in his chest. He didn't know if he'd even see his best friend alive again. The look in Sherlock's eyes told exactly the same message.

Two men positioned themselves either side of Sherlock to frog march him out of the room. John felt something like pride swell inside him as he watched Sherlock struggle against his captors, but this soon turned to fear when he earned himself another whack from the gun. What was going to happen now? He watched helplessly from the window as Sherlock was forced into the boot of a black, plate-less car which then sped around the corner of Baker Street. Sherlock Holmes was gone.


	2. Chapter 2: Separate Ways

Chapter 2: Separate Ways

John paced up and down the living room with his heart pounding like a drum in his chest. His best friend had just been kidnapped so he was completely on his own. What would Sherlock do? Sherlock would use his incredible mind to figure it out so everyone returned safe and sound but John couldn't do that because of the fear pumping itself around John's body. He'd often scoffed at Sherlock's way of dealing with emotions by ignoring them yet it was proving impossible to think as he kept imagining his best friend dead in front of him. He screwed up his face as he mentally pushed these thoughts into a box in his head then locked it. He still felt terrified, but at least he could now think clearly.

The first problem was that he couldn't go to the police for help otherwise Sherlock was definitely dead. This meant that John would have to find Sherlock by himself, although he already knew that this would be impossible. What he needed was someone who knew how the police force worked so they could help yet trustworthy enough not to tell anyone. Where would he find someone like that?

Then the answer hit him. He snatched Sherlock's phone of the coffee table, scrolled through his contacts before hitting the call button when he reached 'Lestrade'. John knew that it was Lestrade's weekend off because he'd overheard him tell Sherlock not to call him unless it was a life or death situation. This definitely was.

The phone rang for a few moments before a groggy Lestrade answered.

"Sherlock this had better be good otherwise-"

"Greg it's me; John."

"John? John what's wrong?" John noted the rising sense of panic in Lestrade's voice. He swallowed nervously before continuing.

"It's Sherlock, he's been kidnapped."

"WHAT?" Lestrade shouted. "Our Sherlock? How?"

"Five men have just come and taken him. I tried to save him but they were going to shoot him if I did anything so there was nothing I could do. They need him for something but I don't know what and... and..." John couldn't bring himself to say that he thought his best friend was going to die again. The pain he'd felt after the Reichenbach Falls was indescribable; it had felt like part of him had died along with Sherlock.

"Give me five minutes and I'll be over," Lestrade replied.

"Don't bring the entire force Greg. They said if they come Sherlock will definitely be... well... he won't be with us anymore," John warned.

"Right I'm coming now," he heard Lestrade say. Then the line went dead.

John had visited enough crime scenes to know that he shouldn't touch any potential evidence at all so he went back upstairs to get dressed. He could hardly button his shirt because he was trembling so much with a mixture of fear and anger. True to his word Lestrade arrived five minutes later with worry written across every facial feature.

"You OK John? he asked. John nodded mutely.

"Right, first thing we need to do is call Mycroft," Lestrade ordered.

"Why?" Everyone knew that the Holmes brothers despised each other with a burning passion so consequently they couldn't be kept in the same room for more than a few minutes otherwise a riot would start. Then again, Sherlock had been kidnapped so this time Mycroft would have to put their childish dispute behind him. John grabbed Sherlock's phone and scrolled down through the contacts until he reached 'The British Government'.

"Mycroft Holmes," came a weary voice from the other end of the line.

"Mycroft, its John here. Listen, I know you both hate each other and all but you need to know this. Sherlock's been kidnapped."

Silence. John wondered if Mycroft had hung up on him. "You still there Mycroft?"

"Yes John. My brother's been kidnapped?" he sounded both shocked and saddened.

"Yeah just now. I can't call the police but Lestrade from Scotland Yard is here to help me. They said they need Sherlock for something although I don't know what so if you've got any ideas please tell me," John said.

"John, at the minute I can't think of anything besides the obvious one of ransom money which I will pay of course if it comes to that. I'll look into this straight away but please call me if you need anything," Mycroft said huskily. John began to feel a little bit funny because he was reminded how much Mycroft cared about his little brother. He didn't like him, but he cared about him which John supposed was more important. He ended the call quickly and turned to look at Lestrade.

"What now?" John asked.

"We'll have to start looking for clues."

**xxx**

Sherlock had never been so terrified during the car journey he spent crammed into the boot speeding towards the unknown. He was still bound and gagged so he had no chance of escape whatsoever, he was all alone and he was probably going to die.

"At least John knows," he thought to himself. John was usually the one who was kidnapped so he'd know what to do.

After what seemed like years the car stopped and Sherlock was pulled roughly out of the boot of the car. The first glow of dawn was beginning to shine in the sky as he was pushed across a crunchy gravel path then through a door then down a dingy passage flanked by his captors. The strange procession reached the top of a flight of stairs where the largest kidnapper opened another door then plucked Sherlock up by the scruff of his shirt as easily as if he were a rag doll then threw him down the stairs. Sherlock felt his ribs crack as he smashed into the cold concrete floor but he tried to keep his face as calm as possible, just so they didn't gloat. The kidnappers picked him up to place him in a chair which he was swiftly tied to with sharp steel wire. Sherlock wasn't keen to struggle against that.

When they finished another man appeared at the top of the stairs who looked as different from the other men as it was possible to be. He was a small, slight man with a thatch of brown hair across his head. He casually strolled down the stairs and walked over to Sherlock. His expensive designer suit confirmed his suspicions; there in front of him was Lucius Turner. His features were set in a look of mock pity.

"What did I tell you before you left? Don't hurt him unless you had to," he said in a patronizing tone.

"Well we had to didn't we Boss," one of the henchmen said. The others all joined in with a chorus of laughter.

"Still I'm finally glad you're here Mr Holmes, I hope you had a comfortable journey," he chortled. Sherlock glared at him as he continued. "Whoops, where are my manners? I really should let my guests speak." Lucius Turner reached forward and ripped the tape from across Sherlock's mouth, making him flinch with pain.

"Lucius Turner," Sherlock gasped.

"Oh so you do know who I am? Well, I've been told you're a sharp one so I trust you're up to date with my plan up until this point. I knew Scotland Yard was onto me but I didn't realise they'd set the best hound they owned onto my trail." He and his henchmen cackled like a pack of hyenas whilst Sherlock sat silently. He needed to focus his brain on finding a way out rather than correcting Turner.

"Everyone at Scotland Yard knows that my profits this year are through the roof so of course they need to investigate. The trouble is they can't find a shred of evidence against me and it's simply because I haven't done anything wrong... yet. This is where you come in Sherlock Holmes. I've been told you're clever and I need a clever person to hack into the Bank of England's computer system-"

"What?" Sherlock asked. The only person he knew who'd hacked into the Bank of England was Moriarty although he still had help, mostly from people he'd bribed or threatened. It was impossible.

"Shush Sherly it's rude to interrupt. I've gotten so far, yet I can't crack one little code. Once I've done that I can take as much money as I need and nobody would ever suspect me because of my balanced books from months ago. The blame will fall on the people who run the Bank of England so I don't get into any trouble; isn't that fantastic? All I'm asking you to do is crack those codes then you're free to go so long as you're sensible and keep your mouth shut."

"Why are you doing this?" Sherlock choked. This didn't add up at all since Turner was already ridiculously rich yet he was now trying to steal more money.

"Why? Let's just say that fashionable people have fashionable tastes. Do we have a deal Sherlock Holmes?" His voice had sunk to a dangerous whisper.

Sherlock stared at his feet as he thought about this. The offer did seem tempting since we wanted nothing more than to get out of there unscathed; but hack into the Bank of England? He could easily do it because he hacked into Scotland Yard's computer system all the time so it would be a piece of cake. However, he would never stoop so low as to work with criminals, let alone greedy ones like this Lucius Turner. There was only one thing he could say.

"No."

"No?" Turner reiterated. He chuckled darkly as he signalled to his henchmen. "Boys, you know what to do."


	3. Chapter 3: Visiting a Mind Palace

Chapter 3: Visiting a Mind Palace

"Is that still a no?" Turner mocked as he stood beside his captive.

Sherlock sat trembling with shock. He'd never been in so much pain in his entire life, not even the time when he'd been hit by a car during a case when he was chasing someone; this time it felt like he'd been hit by a lorry. The beating he'd just received at the hands of Lucius Turner's henchmen hadn't been a surprise but he didn't expect it to hurt that much.

"What was that?" Turner asked when Sherlock didn't answer, "You want another beating?" he signalled to his henchmen who once again surrounded Sherlock. He tried to build up a defence in his mind palace but it was no use. Punches and kicks rained down on Sherlock, making him cry out with pain. Turner watched him struggle, grinning like a Cheshire cat. Sherlock needed a distraction so he searched the mind palace until he came across John.

John. Brave John, noble John. His best friend who had always believed in him even after the world had turned against him when they'd declared him a fake. He'd been at Sherlock's side on almost every case since he'd moved in to Baker Street, he'd put up with Sherlock's experiments and he still managed to smile even after Sherlock had ruined his love life on multiple occasions. He was a soldier with a working moral compass who would never ever give in to anything. At that moment, Sherlock pretended he was Captain John Watson.

"What about now Sherly," Turner taunted after he'd called his henchmen off. They were wiping blood off their hands which Sherlock noticed wasn't their blood. Still, he had to be brave. Sherlock spat a tooth and some blood at Turner's feet.

"Piss off," he growled.

"Very well Mr Holmes, have it your way. Your bravery is just inspiring, but it won't get you very far with me. Many a time I've ground down better people than you so they do exactly what I want. I need access to that computer system soon and I will get it. Its 6AM now, you have until midnight to hack into the system otherwise you will be killed in the most painful way imaginable. That's a promise!" he snarled before leaving the room. His henchmen followed soon afterwards, leaving Sherlock tied up in the dark all alone.

**xxx**

"John look at this!" Lestrade called. John hurried over to where Lestrade was crouching on the pavement outside 221 Baker Street. They'd already searched the flat for clues but they hadn't found anything since they didn't have a full forensics team so they'd turned their attention to outside.

"You've found some evidence then?" John asked. John willed it to be true because they'd then be one step close to finding Sherlock.

"Yeah, it's a muddy footprint. Not sure what use it will be though since we can't go to the labs. If we go they'll ask questions so we'll have to tell them about Sherlock then he'll be a goner."

"Sherlock always manages without the labs," John commented.

"Yeah well, he's Sherlock Holmes; a genius with a mind palace. He can solve a case in five seconds flat if you tell him everything you know about it."

John pondered this for a minute. True, his friend did have an extraordinary mind which was better than any computer, but he couldn't store everything in his head.

"Greg get a sample of the footprint and bring it upstairs. I've got an idea."

John rushed upstairs to the filing cabinet in the corner of the living room. He knew it contained all of Sherlock's notes about how he solved crimes because he'd asked him one time, but John had never looked inside. It was an unwritten and unspoken rule between them that John should stay out of the filing cabinet since it was like looking deep into Sherlock's heart (John had decided long ago that Sherlock's brain and his heart were basically the same thing). However, he needed the information.

He'd often admired Sherlock's skill of knowing where a sample of mud had come from at a glance, but had he written any of it down? He threw open one of the drawers then took out a notebook and began to read it. Lestrade arrived in the room at that exact moment.

"Umm... John are you allowed to look in there?" he asked.

"No but we need to find out how he identifies mud samples so we're visiting his mind palace. We need to look quickly."

John began to flick through one of the notebooks, then another, then another. If John had sat down to read all the notebooks from cover to cover they would have provided a fascinating glimpse into Sherlock's mind palace, but he didn't have the time. Even with Lestrade's help it was like looking for a needle in a haystack.

"There must be something here," John muttered to himself as he opened up another notebook. He scanned through the contents before his eyes found what he needed.

"Greg look! Its here!" he cried, throwing the book at Lestrade who began to read it. John started twitching with nerves. At last he saw a ray of hope in his quest to find Sherlock.

"According to this it looks like the kind of mud that comes from the riverbank," Lestrade commented as he examined it. The ray of hope John had envisioned suddenly turned into a black cloud because he'd just remembered who Sherlock had said lived on the river bank. If what he'd just thought of was true then Sherlock was in even more danger than he thought.

"Lucius Turner has a mansion on the river bank," John said quietly.

"Lucius Turner? Oh that business man we've got Anderson and Donovan investigating. What of it?"

"Well... Sherlock decided to investigate him too because he knew that those two were in charge and you know what he thinks of those two. Lucius Turner must have realised that Sherlock knew too much for his liking," John explained.

"So do you think he'll be in Turner's mansion?"

"I don't know. I suppose a mansion would be a good place to hide somebody."

"This is bad John. There's no way I'll be able to get in to search his house without a permit and to get a permit I'd have to tell the rest of the force which would basically be a death sentence to Sherlock. What are we going to do?"

John felt the worry he'd tried to squash down rise up inside him again. They were back to square one again since they wouldn't be able to get Sherlock.

"I don't know," John whispered.


	4. Chapter 4: Plans

Chapter 4: Plans 

Lestrade was pacing the living room at 221B Baker Street muttering plans to himself. He'd been doing that for the past half hour but John wasn't paying too much attention to him. He was staring out of the window to where the car had been parked, the last place where he'd seen Sherlock. He kept imagining what they could be doing to him; he'd been kidnapped several times before so he knew what it was like. The fear, the uncertainty and the pain. The thing is he'd been lucky since he'd been saved by Sherlock each time. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to find Sherlock.

John tried to shut the images into the mental box he'd created in his mind. He needed to think. They needed someone powerful yet secretive to help them now and the only person John could think of was...

"Mycroft Holmes," he whispered. Lestrade stopped pacing.

"What about him?"

"Well, he is basically the British Government so he should be able to get a permit for us to go into Lucius' mansion," John explained.

"John you're a genius!" Lestrade shrieked. "Phone him quickly!"

He dialled in the number and waited nervously whilst the phone rang.

"Mycroft Holmes."

"Mycroft; it's John again. We think we've figured out who's taken Sherlock; it's Lucius Turner the famous business man. Lestrade and I believe he's taken Sherlock to his mansion but to get in we'd need a permit of some kind and we were wondering if you'd be able to get us one," John gabbled in a rush.

"Hmmm... Lucius Turner? I've heard he's a very sly character so I don't think going in all guns blazing is the best approach. However, I do have another plan. I'll be round to Baker Street in half an hour," Mycroft replied before ending the call.

John continued staring out of the window until Mycroft's shiny car pulled up outside. He seemed to be very distracted since he nearly collided with a burly man who looked a bit like a builder who then disappeared into the cafe. John couldn't help but feel sorry for Mycroft.

He arrived in the flat a minute later accompanied by a large briefcase and his umbrella.

"John, Lestrade," he said as a greeting before settling down on the sofa. Now that he was close John noticed that he looked incredibly tired and worn out.

"So umm... Mr Holmes, what's the plan," Lestrade asked nervously.

"Well, the problem we have is that I can't allow you to go in via a raid because Sherlock is still inside the house so they could use him as a hostage. This would put his life in even more danger therefore you have to go in undercover. As luck would have it, Turner is having a business party this evening in his mansion to show everyone his latest finances. Here are all the necessary things you'll need to get in," Mycroft replied. He opened his briefcase and pulled out two suits, two files, two pens and another sheet of paper.

"It's a black tie event so I've gotten hold of two suits for you; John's is the smaller one. I've also managed to arrange invites for you along with a fake ID each. John you will be Dr Hill Barton this evening since it will be easy for you to pull off the medical type and Lestrade you will be Mr Thomas Smith, his secretary. All the details of their lives are here in these files. Learn them. I also have for you two stun pens-"

"What! Stun _pens_?" John asked, confused.

"Yes stun pens. I can't let you take guns in because you might be searched on the door then your cover will be blown. What I can do is give you stun pens which look exactly like ordinary pens except they have three silent bullets in them which render a person unconscious immediately. They're top secret MI5 pieces of equipment so only use them in an emergency please."

"Bloody hell," Lestrade muttered.

"I also have plans of Turner's mansion which you should study until you know it as well as your own home," Mycroft continued. "Somebody will pick you up at around six o'clock which gives you about three hours to prepare yourselves."

"What happens if well... our cover's is blown or something goes wrong?" John asked.

"I'm afraid to say that you're on your own with no back up, therefore there is no room for error," Mycroft replied. John had expected that answer yet he still felt terrified. However, if this was going to save Sherlock then it was all going to be worth it.

"I'm in," John said.

"Me too," Lestrade said.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck in finding Sherlock. I really do appreciate it; after all he is my little brother."

Mycroft left soon afterwards which left John and Lestrade alone to begin their task.

"We'd better memorise this stuff then," Lestrade said as we opened up one of the files. John nodded and began to commit the key events of Dr Hill Barton's life to memory.

**xxx**

Sherlock slowly stirred to consciousness. It hadn't been the first time during his incarceration that he'd been unconscious but each time it was getting worse and worse. Every muscle and bone in his body seemed to scream with pain every time he shifted slightly on the chair he was still tied to. To Sherlock's horror, a circle of a shiny, dark red liquid that could only be his own blood surrounded the chair; no wonder he felt as weak as a kitten.

Footsteps. Sherlock groaned as he knew he was going to get yet another beating which his body wouldn't be able to cope with and which would probably knock him senseless again. However, instead of the group of henchmen he'd expected only Lucius Turner arrived carrying a laptop. This was suspicious; what was he going to do?

"Hello Sherly did you have a nice nap?" Turner mocked. Sherlock resisted the urge to say one of the fifty-seven comebacks he'd just thought of; he just needed to get through whatever Turner was going to do to him as quickly as possible.

"Giving me the silent treatment hey? Well this should soon get you talking. You've been surprising resoloute in sticking to your guns and not being co-operative so I thought it best if I tried another way to get the information I require. You see this?" Turner pulled what looked like a remote control out of the inside pocket of his suit. "With the push of a button I could destroy everyone and everything you love. We've hidden powerful explosives in the toilet of your landlady's cafe-"

"What?" Sherlock shouted. He felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead and his heart began beating faster.

"See, I told you this would get you talking. I only have to press this button to cause carnage in Baker Street. 221 will be blown sky high which I'm certain would kill everyone in it," Turner grinned as he spoke, making Sherlock feel sick. He had no idea what the time was but he was pretty sure Mrs Hudson would still be there making pots of tea for her customers. John would be up in the flat, possibly with Lestrade since he would probably go to him for help. He'd once faked his death to save his only three friends in the entire world so he wasn't going to kill them now. There was nothing for it but to give in.

"Alright I'll do it," Sherlock whispered. Turner grinned as he untied Sherlock who wiggled his fingers to restore blood flow. The laptop was then thrust onto his knee as Turner positioned himself directly behind Sherlock.

"Do anything I don't tell you to do and it'll be the last thing you ever do," he threatened. Sherlock felt the cold metallic barrel of a gun pushed into the back of his head which made a bruise there feel like it was on fire.

It was surprisingly easy to hack into the Bank of England's computer system, so easy in fact that Sherlock began to wonder how on earth they still had money in there to steal. Turner barked instructions from behind him as soon as he'd cracked the code which Sherlock obeyed immediately. He didn't want to do this, yet he didn't want to die either. As soon as this was over he'd get back to Baker Street to get everyone out so someone could dispose the bomb. That's what he'd do.

"Well done Sherlock," Turner mocked he'd finished. Sherlock clenched his teeth as he resisted the urge to punch him in the middle of his smug face. He didn't however since all it would do is result in his immediate end.

"Am I free to go?" Sherlock asked, trying to keep his voice even.

"Well... no. I've got a party starting upstairs soon and the sight of you might scare my guests away."

"That wasn't the deal!" shrieked Sherlock. "You said as soon as I'd done that I was free to go!"

"I'll see what mood I'm in after the party," Turner chuckled. He forced Sherlock's hands behind his back to tie him to the chair again then stuck a piece of tape across his mouth. "Sit quietly and be a good boy won't you Sherlock?" he laughed a high, maniacal laugh as he left the cell.

All alone in the dark, Sherlock felt hot tears of shame fall down his cheek to mingle with the blood from his various cuts. For the first time since he'd faked his death, Sherlock Holmes began to cry.


	5. Chapter 5: Fight or Flight

Chapter 5: Fight or Flight 

"Dr Hill Barton?" the doorman asked.

"Yes that's me," John answered, his heart hammering underneath his tuxedo. He tried to look cool and confident.

"Have you got a big brother called mountain?" the doorman asked. John attempted to do a fake laugh as if he'd heard that joke a million times before.

"No he's called Tarquin, my parents were rather eccentric," John replied.

"Well enjoy your evening," he laughed as he waved John through. He couldn't believe it; he'd actually managed to get into the party without being spotted. He was quickly joined by Lestrade who had also managed to sneak in undetected.

"What shall we do now?" he whispered to John.

"If we disappear now it will look a bit suspicious so I think we should just mingle," John replied.

At that moment a large man with a walrus moustache engaged John and Lestrade in conversation. He introduced himself as Charles Harrison and seemed interested in them and what they were doing there. John and Lestrade kept to their back story; Dr Hill Barton was a doctor from Birmingham who had come to London with his secretary Thomas Smith to look into the new range of medical products Lucius Turner was selling on behalf of the Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Charles Harrison seemed very impressed.

"I imagine this is your civilian job then Dr Barton," he said. John started as he quickly tried to remember if Dr Barton had a military history. As far as John could remember, he didn't.

"What do you mean Mr Harrison?" John asked trying to act puzzled. Oh God, had their cover been blown?

"Oh, I thought you had something of the military air about you Dr Barton," Charles Harrison replied.

"Heavens no! The closest I've come to the military is treating the wounded service men and women at the hospital," John lied. He prayed that this Harrison bloke would believe it. Luckily he did.

Shortly afterwards Charles Harrison left them to speak to another group. Both John and Lestrade sighed with relief.

"That was close," Lestrade whispered.

"Too close. We need to go and look for Sherlock now before anything like that happens again," John muttered. The room had become very crowded so nobody noticed as John and Lestrade snuck out of the room. They found themselves in a long corridor decorated with a marble floor.

"It said on the map that there was a disused wine cellar near the entrance to the driveway on the map," Lestrade said.

"We'll look there then," John replied. _Please let him be there _John prayed silently.

The two men sped down the corridors of the mansion swiftly and silently. It only took them a few minutes before they passed a door that led onto a gravel driveway. The corridors in this part of the house were dingy with only discoloured, peeling plaster decorating the walls which John thought indicated they'd come to the part of the house where Lucius Turner would keep a prisoner.

"This should be the door," Lestrade whispered. The key was in the outside of the lock so John turned it and pushed the door open slowly then crept down the stairs followed by Lestrade. What he saw sent a shiver of horror through his entire body.

There, bound to the chair and gagged, was Sherlock Holmes.

"Sherlock!" John shouted as he rushed forward to his friend. John noted the look of surprise stretched across his poor bruised face. He gently removed the tape across his mouth as Lestrade began untying him.

"John! Lestrade! What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked, completely baffled.

"Rescuing you," Lestrade replied as he struggled with one of the knots. "Jesus Christ is all this your blood?"

"Yes. How did you find me?" Sherlock asked.

"It doesn't matter now. Everything's going to be alright. We'll take you to hospital or back to Baker Street if you want," John reassured him.

"No! We can't go back to Baker Street!" Sherlock screamed, fear flooding his face. John and Lestrade looked at each other; they'd never seem Sherlock this close to hysteria in their lives.

"Sherlock, what's the matter?" John asked gently.

"We can't go back to Baker Street because there's a bomb in the cafe that Turner put in there. He had me kidnapped so I would hack into the computer system at the Bank of England for him but I wouldn't do it so he put it in there and threatened to blow everything up, including you! He'll set it off if he finds I'm gone!" Sherlock cried. John tried to hold back his tears as he asked Sherlock more questions. They needed to leave quickly.

"Did you hack into the system then?"

"Yes!"

"How was he going to set off the bomb Sherlock, did he say?"

"He had a remote with him!"

"We need to find that remote before we leave," Lestrade said. "The main office is on the second floor, he might have put it in there."

"We need to go; now. Ready Sherlock?"

"Yes."

It was clear that Sherlock was in no fit state to walk on his own so Lestrade and John supported him on either side so they could half-carry, half-drag Sherlock along with them. Since Sherlock was the tallest their progress was slow but mercifully they didn't meet anybody. John half expected somebody to hear them, especially as Sherlock often groaned involuntarily with pain.

"You're being very brave Sherlock," John whispered as they neared the office.

"I'm not, I'm just doing what you would do," Sherlock whispered back. John felt his ears turn pink because in Sherlock's own little way this was a compliment.

They neared the door to the office which was luckily unlocked so they slipped inside. The trio found themselves in a vast room decorated with the finest paintings, luxury carpets and dark mahogany furniture. An enormous desk stood in the centre of the room with a gun, a laptop and some sort of remote on it.

"That's the remote for the bomb," Sherlock said, pointing at it. John noticed that he was trembling with fear as he looked at it. Lestrade pocketed the remote then turned to leave the room. However, somewhere from further down the corridor came the sound of rapid footsteps.

"Hide!" Lestrade mouthed as he grabbed the gun from the desk. He crouched behind the door whilst John dragged Sherlock into a side room. John had gotten this far so there was no way he was going to let Sherlock die now; no way whatsoever. He sat Sherlock down on the floor then got his stun pen ready. Captain John Watson wasn't going down without a fight.


	6. Chapter 6: Hospital

_Just a little note from me to say thanks for all the great reviews; I really do appreciate them! _

Chapter 6: Hospital

Sherlock sat shivering on the floor of the little side room next to John. All his fears about what could go wrong had escaped the part of his mind palace where he kept all those dark thoughts and were now racing through Sherlock's mind. What if Lestrade or John were hurt? What if they were _killed_? What would happen then?

Finally, after what seemed like years, the door to the office was flung open to reveal Lucius Turner in a designer tuxedo standing there. He'd taken about five steps into the office before Lestrade shouted at him in what Sherlock privately called his no-nonsense voice:

"Put your hands on your head this is a police raid!"

Turner whipped round to find himself face to face with a loaded gun. If he wasn't in so much pain Sherlock would have laughed at the shocked look on Turners face as he put his hands on his head.

"It's alright you can come out now," Lestrade called. John carefully helped Sherlock to his feet then helped him hobble into the main office.

"You!" Turner spat at Sherlock.

"Yes me," Sherlock snarled. He accompanied this with an ice cold stare.

"How? Why?" Turner gabbled. Sherlock was glad to note that he wasn't looking so cocky now.

"Doesn't matter at the minute. No doubt someone will explain when we've taken you down to the police station. Now sit in that chair," Lestrade ordered. To Sherlock's satisfaction Lestrade swiftly tied Turner to the chair before searching him for weapons. Lestrade then began calling for backup on his phone.

"Come on Sherlock," John said, steering him towards a basin in the corner of the room with a small mirror tacked to the wall above it. Sherlock recoiled at the reflection he saw; he looked like a monster. His face was covered in dark purple bruises with blood streaked across it like war paint. He had a split lip, two black eyes and a torn shirt which showed all the wounds beneath. How the hell was John going to fix all this?

"It's alright Sherlock," John soothed him, almost as if he could hear his thoughts. Usually, Sherlock would have told John to shut up but at that moment he really did need soothing. He allowed John to bathe his open wounds with water whilst he muttered under his breath.

"Deep cuts, some of those may need stitching. Irregular breathing pattern, oh Sherlock I think you've got a punctured lung. You're going to need an operation," John said with his face full of concern. Sherlock hated hospitals with a passion after having his tonsils taken out when he was a small child. Still, if it meant going back to solving crimes then he was just going to have to be brave.

"OK fine, I don't care about that," he lied. "The thing I'm more concerned about is how you found me," Sherlock croaked.

John poured him a glass of water as he began to explain. Sherlock listened spellbound to the explanation; the footprint, the notebooks, the fake ID. Sherlock had no idea that John would have bothered to find the notes about mud samples then learn an entire back story in one afternoon.

"Thank you John," he whispered when he'd finished.

"It's alright Sherlock; anything for a friend," John smiled back. He opened his arms which Sherlock took to be a sign for a hug. Normally Sherlock would have scoffed at such a sentimental was of showing _feeling _and _emotions_ but none of this was normal so he accepted the hug. It hurt a bit but Sherlock didn't mind.

"Right that's that sorted, the police are on their way along with an ambulance," Lestrade said. Behind him Lucius Turner began to whimper.

"What about my party? There's all the top names from the business world here tonight! My entire reputation will be ruined!" he shrieked.

"Tough. You should have thought about that before you kidnapped Sherlock Holmes," the Detective Inspector replied. Turner became very pale.

"Thank you Lestrade for everything," Sherlock said gratefully.

"It's alright Sherlock. In many ways I should be thanking you; you've finally given us a good enough reason to arrest Mr Turner here," Lestrade replied, grinning at Sherlock.

Soon the police arrived to formally arrest Lucius Turner who Sherlock noticed had turned the colour of sour milk. However, he didn't have long to admire the state that Turner had become because the paramedics arrived to take over from John. They made him wear an oxygen mask due to his punctured lung then they hauled him onto a stretcher to take him to the ambulance. Outside it was chaos with people running to their cars and a few being interviewed by the police; the party was clearly over. At the door to the ambulance Sherlock began panicking. What if John wasn't allowed to come with him?

"You'll stay with me won't you John? Sherlock mumbled through the mask.

John clambered into the back of the ambulance to crouch down next to the stretcher. "God for someone so clever you're an idiot sometimes. I'm not going to leave you all alone in hospital, especially after that day you've had. I'll be right here beside you," John reassured him. "Just lie back and relax."

"But I can't see you if I'm flat on my back," Sherlock pointed out. Wasn't it obvious that he was going to have to sit up?

"You don't have to. Just hold my hand," John said, reaching beneath the blanket to find Sherlock's hand. Sherlock grasped it gratefully. It felt warm and surprisingly soft, almost like a teddy bear Sherlock thought to himself.

"That's right Sherlock, just relax," John whispered over and over again.

The journey to a hospital only took a few minutes, after which Sherlock was sped through to A&E for an emergency operation and a blood transfusion. John gently explained everything to Sherlock who listened intently. He didn't even have a tantrum when they told him John wouldn't be able to come into the operating theatre with him. However, that may have been because they'd given him one hell of a lot of painkillers just before which made him very drowsy.

Sherlock woke up after the operation feeling very sore with a strange prickly sensation in his hand. He opened his eyes groggily to see what was causing it to find he was hooked up to a drip; not the best thing in the world to wake up to.

"He's going to be alright isn't he George," he heard John say anxiously from somewhere near the foot of the bed.

"He'll be okay now that he's had the operation, he'll be able to breathe properly," someone replied. Sherlock presumed that this was one of the doctors yet he was on a first name basis with John so he must be a close work colleague which meant he'd been taken to St Bart's. Sherlock was quite impressed with himself that he could still make deductions whilst he was in this state.

"Are you certain?" John pressed.

"Positive. Give him a few weeks and he'll be as right as rain again; he'll just to have a lot of bed rest."

"Bed rest?" John laughed. "Fat chance. Sherlock will be trying to work again in less than a week you watch."

"Well if it wasn't for you he'd never be able to work again. You and that fellow from the police found him just in time; if he'd been kept in that condition for a few more hours he would have died."

"Jesus Christ," John muttered.

"Would I have really died?" Sherlock questioned. He tried to sit up but John rushed over then gently pushed him back onto the pillows.

"Lay back down Sherlock you need to rest. I'll go and find the nurse with that trolley so you can get something to eat, you must be starving," John said, not really answering Sherlock's question.

"When am I allowed to go home?" he asked John.

"When the doctor says so."

"But you're a doctor," Sherlock said.

"Well I say you've got to stay here until your ribs and lungs have mended properly," John replied. He was trying to look stern although he was also trying to hold back a smile.

"Okay then," Sherlock replied. "But I'm only staying here if you stay here too."

"That's fine by me," John laughed. It was then that Sherlock was reminded one again that he had a fantastic best friend.


	7. Chapter 7: Epilogue

Chapter 7: Epilogue 

A week's quiet dust had settled across the living room at 221 Baker Street. Everything had remained untouched except for a pile of envelopes Mrs Hudson had placed on the coffee table. However, it wasn't going to stay untouched for long. Dr John Watson entered the room supporting the very pale Sherlock Holmes with his arm.

"Are you sure you're alright?" John asked nervously.

"I'm fine John stop fussing," Sherlock grumbled as he looked at his reflection in the mirror over the mantelpiece. John smiled a little to himself. The week Sherlock had spent in hospital had done wonders for putting him back into his usual foul mood. John also thought that he looked a lot better too since the swelling had come down loads but there wasn't a lot they could do about his missing tooth. Luckily, it was one of his back molars so it didn't show too much when he talked.

"Well I'm glad to be home," John said as he bustled around the flat making tea for himself and Sherlock. John had kept his promise to the letter; he hadn't strayed so far as the cafe at St. Bart's whilst Sherlock had been recovering. It would have been boring except for the fact that Sherlock got so frustrated that he started making deductions about the doctors, nurses and other patients which quickly made him very unpopular. John grinned guiltily to himself as he took the cups of tea back into the living room.

Sherlock had settled himself down in his armchair so John copied him as he sank into his own. For once Sherlock looked fairly relaxed so John considered putting a DVD on for him (they were still trying to find time to watch all the James Bond films) but before they could Mycroft knocked on the partially open door to the flat.

"Getting better Sherlock?" he asked almost kindly. He placed a bunch of grapes and a box of chocolate on the little table next to Sherlock.

John held his breath. He had of course told Sherlock all about how Mycroft had helped then to sneak into Lucius Turner's mansion but he wasn't sure if Sherlock was going to show he was grateful.

"I'm alright," Sherlock replied.

"That's good, I trust the good doctor has been keeping you in good health," Mycroft continued.

"He's been helping me a lot yes," Sherlock said quietly.

John couldn't help but be secretly delighted that the Holmes brothers were talking to each other civilly. Maybe they were going to become friends again?

"I suppose you both want to know how everything has turned out," Mycroft said after a pause.

"I do, I haven't seen a paper all week," John replied.

"Lestrade seemed reluctant to tell us when he visited me," Sherlock added.

"Well this is what happened. After you had been taken to hospital Lucius Turner was arrested and taken to the police station and charged with various money scams, theft and kidnapping Sherlock along with some of his staff. All the money he made you steal has been safely returned which is a relief. You see, that money had been set aside to boost the economy so if it had gone missing then the country would have plunged into recession yet again. In that sense, you two along with D.I Lestrade are national heroes," Mycroft explained.

John began to feel a bit funny; a hero? He'd never thought of himself as a hero at all yet now the whole nation thought he was one, it didn't make any sense. However, Sherlock seemed more put out by this than he did.

"I don't understand why I'm a hero Mycroft. The other two managed to rescue me and therefore save my life so they are heroes but I had to give in so I'm not a hero," Sherlock protested.

"Sherlock," Mycroft sighed, "You are a hero because you managed to resist until much later in the day so the money didn't go through until much later. That gave John and Lestrade enough time to rescue you and uncover Turner's plot before all the money had been drained from the account without a trace. You are a hero Sherlock."

"I'm not a hero," John said quietly.

"Shut up John you are," Sherlock snapped. Hang on, Sherlock was acknowledging the existence of heroes? John decided the best thing to do would be to shut up and go along with it.

"Your story had caused quite a storm in the national papers so I've kept all the newspaper clippings I could lay my hands on," Mycroft continued as he opened a file which contained numerous clippings. Considering neither of them had told the press what really happened they were scarily accurate.

"Lestrade must have said something," Sherlock muttered.

"He's issued a statement to the press and has offered to take a police statement from both you and John so we can start the trial. With sufficient evidence they're trying to push for a life sentence." Mycroft replied.

"We'll do it tomorrow," Sherlock replied. John nodded to show his agreement.

"Good. There's also something else that may interest you. Since you've saved the country you've both been asked along with Lestrade to a special lunch at Buckingham Palace with the Queen and the Prime Minister," Mycroft added.

John spat out his tea all over his stripy jumper. Lunch with the Queen and the Prime Minister? Unbelievable.

"That's supposed to be a treat?" Sherlock asked astounded.

"Yes Sherlock. Although it will require you to be polite, courteous and respectful for an entire afternoon it is a reward. However, we don't have to worry about that now because you can't go until you're better," Mycroft warned him.

"Fine," Sherlock muttered.

"Well I'd better be off Sherlock and leave you in peace. If you need anything just call and do whatever John says," he said as he picked up his umbrella.

"Since when has been John in charge?" Sherlock whined.

"Since you became ill. John look after him as best you can please."

"I will Mycroft," John replied.

Mycroft left soon afterwards leaving Sherlock and John alone.

"You know John I think I'm going to have to be ill for quite some time," Sherlock said with a grin.

John giggled happily as he helped himself to some of Sherlock's grapes; everything was back to normal in Baker Street.


End file.
